


Shed thy burden

by Neonbat



Series: SPN kink Bingo 2018 [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Church Sex, Confessionals, Demon Sam, Destiel - Freeform, Glass butt plugs, Human Castiel, Improper use of Sacramental oil, M/M, Priest Dean, Priest Sam, Public Sex, Pure indulgent blasphemy, Spit Roasting, Wincestiel - Freeform, nebulous definition of a good ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 18:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16413995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonbat/pseuds/Neonbat
Summary: Dean has noticed some changes in his baby brother, but his duties as a Priest to his parish must come first. He struggles with himself, his temptations, especially towards a single father named Castiel Novak. It turns out, they all have struggles.





	Shed thy burden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EclecticInk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticInk/gifts).



> Ayyy! This fic was inspired and a gift for my dear EclecticInk <3
> 
> Also special shout out to my beta Jemariel
> 
> I lovveeddd writing for spn kink bingo I just wish I had more time to complete all my squares! haha

 

“ Our Father who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name;” The quiet chirps of the early morning birds provided the perfect music to utter his prayers to.  Dean’s heart was troubled upon waking, shame hanging on him, blanketing him in doubt. Moments like these were all too frequent, more so when the anniversary of their Father’s death encroached. Since receiving a parish of his own, it had been easier to distance himself from the life he’d once lived.

 

Footsteps sounded in the hall behind him, Sam already up and about. “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done,” Sam’s footsteps halted somewhere behind him, no doubt hovering in the doorway. Sam rarely slept through the night anymore, another worry lurking in Dean’s fog. Sam didn’t look any more tired than usual; in fact, Dean would venture and say he was better than ever.

 

His brother had never been quite as committed to the Priesthood as he was. Not that Dean could blame him. It was only under their Father’s urging they had taken this path to start with...as if there had been any other way. 

 

Yet where Dean had found solace, Sam had found hunger. Hunger to do more.Hunger to  _ fix _ things they had no say in. They were Priests, they could only guide and offer soft words, they couldn’t do much more than what they were allowed. It was another stone threatening to buckle Dean’s back, but he bore it well. Sam...Sam wilted under the weight of every new heartbreaking confession.

 

“On earth as it is in — ” 

 

“Dean?” 

 

Dean’s prayers halted, brows furrowing as he looked back towards the door. “Sam? I’m praying.” Sam knew this, Dean was on his knees in front of his carefully made up bed eyes towards the dawn through the window. He took the same position day after day, even when it rained or snowed. Sam had never dared interrupt him before.

 

Sam stared from the doorway, already dressed for the day. “I’m sorry Dean, I must have been daydreaming.” A faintly serene smile curled Sam’s lips as if he hadn’t been standing there a handful of seconds before he spoke. Dean had heard him, he wasn’t mistaken, but Sam looked so flippant Dean had no choice but to let it go. 

 

Sighing, Dean rose, quietly begging God’s forgiveness for losing the moment. “What is it?” He asked while smoothing out the wrinkle in his black slacks and donning a pressed white shirt over his undershirt. 

 

“Mr. Novak will be over this morning to discuss the clothing drive and a number of other  _ ideas _ he’s had.” A small indulgent tilt smoothed on Sam’s lips. They were acquainted well with Castiel Novak’s desire to be helpful in any way possible. 

 

Dean had sat in on the man’s confessions a handful of times, and he felt for the man. His wife had run off on him, leaving him with a young daughter determined to make every cliche teen bad decision in the book. Claire was a good child, Dean could see it, but he hoped she would see that the road she was going down would end in unhappiness before it left too many scars. Dean saw much of youth in the fourteen-year-old. 

 

“I remember,” Dean answered carefully. Did Sam really interrupt him just for that?

 

Sam looked on a moment longer, eyes turning towards the windowsill as a fat blue jay descended on the ledge. Seconds crept by, only the loud ticking of the ancient grandfather clock in the hallway and the bluejay between them.

 

“I made breakfast,” Sam said, at last, smile increasing a hair more before he turned and walked towards the rectory’s kitchen.

 

Sighing, Dean finished dressing for the day, absently thumbing his jawline. He was due for a shave, but he’d always enjoyed leaving a bit of stubble. It wasn’t proper for a man of his position, it felt too much like vanity, but he would allow himself this.

 

Breakfast was the usual fare of oatmeal and berries from Sam’s garden, not what Dean preferred, but he would admit his waistline was more forgiving of him lately with Sam taking the duty of breakfast since he was up earlier. Dean would make up for it with something heavier for dinner. There was still cherry pie left over in the fridge from Ellen Singer, a dear woman Dean wished he could rope into attending more Masses, but she came when her schedule allowed. That was enough for Dean.

 

“I should go over, I wouldn’t want Mr. Novak to be waiting.” Dean rose, grimacing as his right knee protested weakly. He was hovering close to the big four-zero faster than he’d like, and his body was starting to show the signs his earlier years had wrought. 

 

Sam finished off his orange juice and stood to gather their bowls.”No need, I told him to come here to the Rectory. Rachel is in the church if anyone comes by.” The church secretary was a quiet, well-spoken woman, but not one Dean got along with easily. Sam was better with people like Rachel, ones that had too many layers for Dean to know how to peel back to get a genuine emotion from her. 

 

The initial burst of panic quelled in Dean’s chest when the loud doorbell sang out over the modest two-story rectory connected to the old church. The notion of Castiel Novak being here in their living space filled Dean with a trepidation he didn’t know how to address.

 

Sam made no move to get the door, busy washing up the dishes, so Dean rose. He hesitated in the entryway, side-glancing the mirror hanging near the coat rack. For thirty-nine, he looked good. His jaw was still sharp and aside from the crows feet that crinkled the corners of his eyes when he laughed, he only looked to be the more mature, hardened version of the lady-killer he’d been in his younger days.

 

Dean tore his eyes from the mirror, shaken. It didn’t matter what he looked like! Not anymore. As long as he looked to be the presentable Pastor people expected, that was all he needed.

 

Swallowing, he opened the door, plastering a casual smile on his plush lips. “Good morning Mr. Novak.”

 

Castiel was an odd duck. Soft-spoken, but prone to moments of laughter that lit up his olive-toned face like the dawn. He was serious by nature, but a dreamer layered within, only shown to Dean in the hushed moments of confessionals. He was always a mixture of unsurprising and peculiar; Dean can never quite get a clear read on him.

 

He was wearing a simple blue button up tucked into khaki slacks, but the beige coat hung at all the wrong angles on his lean, toned body, and his chestnut hair was its usual haphazard mess. Castiel was a man that  _ tried _ but lived in too much chaos to put the devil in the details. Dean liked that about him.

 

“Good morning Father,” Castiel’s voice was whiskey-rough and smokey though Dean would bet dollars to donuts the man had never smoked a day in his life. It was almost out of place on the man’s good-ol-christian boy visage. 

 

Dean shook his head with a quirked smile and said, “Once again Mr. Novak, you don’t  _ have _ to address me as Father, especially this early in the morning. Come in.” He stepped aside to allow the man in.

 

Returning his smile, Castiel shed his ill-fitting coat to hang up by the door.”And I’ll insist in return that Castiel will do.” It was an old song and dance by this point, neither one of them taking the plunge to address each other so informally. 

 

Dean heard the back door shut as they proceeded to the modest sitting room, a tray of coffee already set out on the coffee table. Sam always thought of the minor details that escaped Dean’s notice. He just wasn’t used to entertaining guests anymore; he never allowed himself the luxury. 

 

“So, you wanted to discuss the clothing drive and possibly some other ideas?” Dean started, sitting on the plush couch. He half expected Castiel to perch on one of the stuffed chairs across from the coffee table, but he sat on the other edge of the couch instead, hands placed properly in his lap in a loose hold. 

 

Sometimes Dean wondered if Castiel had eaten, slept, and breathed the church since he was born. 

 

“Yes, I know Angela Brooks is in charge of the clothing drive but considering she was just put on bed rest for her pregnancy I wanted to offer my services if she approves.” Castiel started with a faintly pinched expression. “I don’t want to step on any toes, but I wished to help in any way I could.” Ghosted memories of listening to the man’s confessions trickled through Dean’s mind as Castiel spoke.

 

_ ‘ I know I shouldn’t complain...But Father, I am at a loss. She is so willful, and I can’t contain her. I don’t want to, not really...But I miss my daughter. I miss when she was young and we would read together. I miss having a friend in her. With her growing up so fast I feel...lost.’ _

 

Shortly after Castiel began volunteering in the church with renewed vigor. Poor man, Dean thought him gravely lonely with the abandonment of his wife, and now a teenage daughter who was too embarrassed to need her father anymore. 

 

“I’m sure Mrs. Brooks wouldn’t mind. She spoke to me about finding some more help just yesterday,” Dean assured, reaching for his coffee cup and motioning for Castiel to partake as well. 

 

Castiel gratefully accepted, bypassing the cream and sugar entirely to drink it black, surprisingly rugged from a man in khakis. “I also wished to speak to you about, perhaps — Well, I know time is limited, but there are many that wish to get involved, so I will be forward. I think offering adult and youth bible studies would be beneficial.” He finished, rotating the coffee cup slowly at his fingertips in a nervous tick. 

 

“Oh?” Dean had thought about it before, but it always felt a bit...predictable. After establishing child care in the morning, the monthly charity kitchen, and the occasional picnics, Dean felt as he was creating one of those churches that people lived their lives around. There was always something vaguely uncomfortable about the idea that a person’s sole focus be on their religion alone, which felt vaguely blasphemous. 

 

“It was just a thought, don’t — Shoot!” Castiel winced as his fidgeting ended up dumping a liberal amount of his coffee down the front of his shirt.

 

Dean set his own cup aside to reach and take hold of Castiel’s before he could do more damage, “Ouch, that looks like it will stain. Best to get some vinegar on it.” He stood, already mentally cataloging where they kept the white vinegar.

 

“Vinegar?” Castiel inquired, standing to follow Dean off towards the kitchen.

 

“Works for da — “ Dean flinched, nearly slipping and saying ‘damn’ after all these years,”just about everything.” He cleared his throat, fishing around under the sink to find the half-empty bottle of they used for cleaning. “Go on and take that one off, I’ll bring you a new shirt, wouldn’t want to ruin that one.” He turned back around, freezing in his tracks the moment his eyes met with a peek of Castiel’s bare chest.

 

Castiel was already starting on the buttons of his shirt, frowning in distaste at the dark stain. “I can’t believe I was so careless. I admit I’m not much of a morning person, despite needing to be.” He offered an apologetic grin as he stripped the shirt off, revealing a toned body that screamed that whenever Castiel wasn’t taking care of his daughter, at church, or at work, he did  _ something _ to keep himself looking healthy and tight. 

 

None of which Dean should be thinking about. “Aren’t we all?” He offered a wavering smile and accepted the shirt to start it soaking in the sink with a liberal amount of water and vinegar. “I’ll find you something to wear home, no problem.” It was harder than he’d ever admit to tear his eyes away from Castiel’s semi-nude body. It stirred thoughts in him he’d thought were long, long dead.

 

The nights where a charming smile and a glass of something strong would win him over to a hotel room, car, or even a bathroom stall. The days when he’d drown in the taste of men and women alike. The days he fought to erase every day he woke and knelt by his bed to pray. 

 

Castiel followed him back to his room, each step quickening Dean’s heart. The only person to ever step past the threshold of his personal space was Sam, and even then, his brother did so sparingly. They had been made to share so much in their childhood that when they possessed their own room it felt like a violation to invade. Dean knew he shouldn’t be so possessive to something so trivial, but to err was human.

 

A quick search into his wardrobe drew out a long-sleeved grey shirt, as Dean wasn’t prone to wearing things with full buttons outside of the black shirts he wore on special occasions. Like today, he wore a long green sleeved shirt and black slacks, with his clerical collar tucked into the pocket of the shirt’s high collar. If there was one thing he was thankful for in today’s modern age, was the updated selection there were for priests in their casual wear. He wasn’t a man born to exist in pressed blouses alone. 

 

“Thank you, Father.” Castiel accepted it gratefully, pulling it on over himself without the modesty Dean would have thought a man like Castiel would grow up with. 

 

“Please, no trouble,” Dean replied, mouth conspicuously dry. The shirt was tighter on Castiel through the chest and looser at the waist than it was on him, accenting the shape of Castiel’s body more than the blue button up ever had. It was...indulgent.

 

As they stepped into the hall Sam returned from outside, carrying a basket of fresh vegetables from his garden in the backyard. His brow quirked seeing the two of them in the hall, but he was quick to recover.”Good morning, Castiel.” He greeted with an ease Dean had never managed. 

 

“Good morning, Sam.” Castiel replied, even if his ‘Sam’ sounded a bit stilted and unsure, it was still more than they’d ever managed between them. Dean refused to admit to jealousy, but the faint burn was still there. Festering.

 

“If you two are done, I believe you wanted to see my garden? I have time now if you wish.” Sam offered, eyes cutting to Dean with a faint smirk within. It was a look only Dean would be able to catch, one that read like a raspberry offered when Sam had nicked his favorite baseball card when they were children. 

 

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Castiel turned back to Dean, offering another muted smile that still made his blue eyes sparkle. “Thank you for your time, Father. I’ll go by Angela’s to see what she was able to get done, and perhaps we can discuss what I suggested? If you’d be amiable?”

 

Dean nodded before he had any time to properly think on it, ”Of course. I’ll be at the church if anyone needs me. It was nice talking with you, Mr. Novak, as ever.” The friendly smile he offered to parishioners never felt fake, but sometimes his words did. Dean Winchester wasn’t a man that spoke flowery words. He’d been made into that, and eventually, it had become second nature, even if it felt ill-fitting. At the end of the day, he was still a leopard that couldn’t change his spots, even if he tried to paint over them.

 

* * *

 

 

He dreams of damnation in the night. 

 

The whisper of fingertips against olive skin, and the taste of sweat on well-toned pecs. A deep gravel voice uttering sins into fevered fog, begging him for more until his voice cracks. The sweet weight of arousal on his tongue, heady and so decidedly masculine it makes him quake with desire. 

 

Castiel breaths his name in the vision, widening his legs with an incubus’ sigh. They intertwine, lost in a void of ecstasy that rob voices and bruise lips. Dean falls, tipping over into the hellfire of Castiel’s heat.

 

Dean woke with a start, sitting up in his bed with a hard gasp. The immediate dampness of his boxers weighed heavily between his legs, and a rare cuss spilled past his lips. Swinging a leg over the side of his bed, Dean made to stand, but the creak outside of his door gave him pause. 

 

A soft knock sounded on his door as it swung open, and Dean scrambled to cover himself up once more. 

 

“Dean? You awake?” Sam peered in, dressed in his pajamas, but without the sleep-rumpled hair, Dean was used to. A quick peek at the clock blared three-three-three, and something soured in Dean’s stomach. 

 

“Y-yea, just woke up, just...going back to sleep here in a minute. You still up?” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to ignore the cooling wetness of his lewd nature. 

 

“Just getting a glass of milk.” Sam raised the glass in question, and for a brief, delusional moment, Dean could have sworn his brother’s eyes were a swallowed pitch. It was a trick of the shadows of the room, he was sure, but the effect was disconcerting.  

 

“Goodnight...Sweet dreams.” Sam’s smile was bright in the dark, but the sweet parting words did nothing to lessen the growing sand trickling into Dean’s core. Day by day, it grew, weighing him down with no discernible explanation in sight to remedy his unease. 

 

Hands gripping the sheets over his lap, Dean offered a small smile.”Goodnight.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Mrs. Tran! Nice to see you, how’s Kevin?” Dean stood at the front of the church in easy conversation with the stragglers who enjoyed a word with their Priest at the end of Sunday morning mass.

 

To his right, he watched as Sam made his way to the confessional, where rightly Dean should be making his way towards, but Mrs. Tran did enjoy talking more than most. 

 

It was nearly half an hour later when Sam’s hand descended on his shoulder, startling him from his parting wave as the woman walked away. “Dean, take over? I think I’m getting sick, “ Sam frowned, though he didn’t look all that peaky in Dean’s opinion. 

 

“Sure, go lay down.” Dean reached up to clasp Sam’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

 

He settled himself within the confessional, finding a parishioner already waiting inside. 

 

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” The voice was all too familiar, ”It has been three weeks since my last confession.” Which was surprising out of Castiel, considering he was a man who scarcely missed a week.

 

“I...have done many things this week that condemn me,” Castiel began. “It is like something wicked has taken over me. I was impatient with my daughter when she rebelled, and I yelled,” Dean couldn’t help but quietly smile at that. Castiel felt such guilt over something most parents were guilty of at some point. “I have felt jealousy at the parent-teacher conference when seeing other parents with their children…” Castiel swallowed, his voice thready in the close quarters of the confessional.”I have felt lust...horrible, perverted lust.”

 

Dean froze, eyes widening as images of his base dream flared before his mind’s eye. “Go on, “ His voice felt too loud in the space.

 

Castiel hesitated for nearly a minute, the only clue to his presence being his quivering breath. “I have felt lust for a man,” he began, voice taking on a deeper edge that rose gooseflesh to Dean’s skin. “A man of station and...respect.” 

 

He’d never suspected Castiel had proclivities towards men after marrying Megan, but his ex-wife had been a wild one. Dean had never thought Meg Novak capable of being the model wife she’d made an attempt at being. She’d managed until their daughter Claire was twelve before packing up her clothing and stealing away in the night, mailing the divorce papers some weeks after and taking Castiel’s broken heart with her.

 

Dean could still remember the piteous confessions that had followed and the fear Castiel felt at being forced to raise a daughter alone.    
  
“I admit to...to pleasuring myself to thoughts of him.” Castiel continued, and Dean was lost to it. Lost to the trembling cadence of his rough voice, as if even Castiel couldn’t believe what he was saying aloud. “I borrowed something of his recently...it was a kindness. I hadn’t meant to take advantage of but — it smelled of him. I could imagine him being near me, with me.” Dean felt stifled in the box, the temperature climbing higher and higher. “Pleasuring me...and I wanted to pleasure him. I wanted him...I...want him. I’ve been alone so long I —” The sound of Castiel’s phone buzzing jerked them both from the momentary fugue.”A-apologies, that was my daughter.”

 

Dean gripped the front of his cassock, feeling the vile stirring of lust pressing against his trousers. “L...lust is a human condition, but it is quick to pass. Turn your eyes from the perversions of the flesh and towards something fulfilling instead.” The discomfort below came close to making him forget to instruct a penance, “Reflect on the power and teachings of the Lord and what he wishes of you. Remember your contrition. I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy spirit...go in peace.” It was all said on automatic, without thought or consideration to the weight of Castiel’s sin. All Dean could think of was getting as far away from confessional as possible, despite knowing there were likely to be others afterward. 

 

Castiel stirred in his seat, and Dean could imagine him there all too easily. His face was faintly outlined in the grating, barely discernible, but oh-so recognizable to Dean. “Thanks be to God,” Castiel replied at length and slipped from the booth, and with his departure, Dean breathed again.

 

* * *

 

 

Sun rays illuminated the back porch as Dean walked out to enjoy a midday cup of coffee on his Saturday afternoon. While sins of the flesh haunted his dreams, the peculiarities of the past Sunday mass had faded. 

 

He closed his eyes and turned to the sun, letting early autumn warmth seep into his skin. 

 

The sound of laughter from the garden pulled him from his revelry, two distinct voices he’d know anywhere. Castiel had called once before to discuss more on the clothing drive, but Dean didn’t know why Castiel would be with Sam.  

 

Setting the mug down on the railing, Dean walked to the far right of the porch to peer over, spotting the two in the middle of Sam’s garden. 

 

Sam rested a hand against Castiel’s elbow as they shared some private joke. Castiel’s face was lit by the sun, bright blue eyes sparkling as if he were bathed in God’s grace. The little crinkle-eyed smile made crows feet scrunch at the corners of his eyes, all the more charming next to his naturally dozy lids.  Dean had rarely used the word ‘beautiful’ for men, but Castiel was every inch of that and more.

 

His hands tightened on the rails as Sam stepped closer, leaning down to whisper something against the shell of Castiel’s ear. Castiel burst into a fit of fresh chortles, reaching to swat playfully at Sam’s shoulder before turning back to the garden.

 

Jealous burned in Dean’s stomach, red-hot tempering fire. 

 

Sam looked up, catching his eye from across the yard with a knowing smile. With a careless wave, Sam too turned back to the garden, hand coming up to rest against Castiel’s back as they bent to peer at the autumn squash.

 

* * *

 

 

It shouldn’t have been such a surprise for Castiel to return to Confession the day after, and yet, as soon as his voice rumbled into the tight space, Dean scarcely breathed.

 

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned…” Dean heard him lick his lips, imaging the pink flesh glistening with fresh moisture. “My perversions continue. They come to me in the night, begging me to act. I...I know the person I lust so strongly for would rebuke me, and I am tempted to find another.” The acidic jealousy returned. Dean could imagine all too well another man’s hands on Castiel, stripping him bare and laying him out for their own sick pleasures. “Am I beyond redemption?”

 

Dean froze, staring at the screen as if he expected hellfire to burst around them and consume them both. “I...do not think anyone is beyond redemption, C — My child.” He began, “Are your desires so strong you would jeopardize your soul?”

 

Silence stretched between them, with only their breaths to fill the air. 

 

“Wh...What use is my soul to my waking mortality?” Castiel whispered, voice trembling. “I am weak, Father, and my loneliness, my lusts, consume me.”

 

Dean felt dizzy with the shock of Castiel’s confession. He’d known Castiel to be the most devout of his flock, and yet he was so willing to damn himself to sate his mortal desires? And yet...did he have the right to cast that stone? He was a man that had lived enough debauchery for four lifetimes before he’d been given the choice to become a priest or his father would have thrown him to the wolves. 

 

And so Dean did something he doesn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for, “Cas…” Uttering the man’s name broke a sacred vow of confidentiality and made Castiel’s confession real. It stretched before them, mocking their indecision. 

 

Castiel sprang from the confessional before Dean could ever hope to follow. By the time Dean exited from his side and peered down the aisle, Castiel was already rounding the pews to hurry outside. 

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time in nearly a year, Dean went a week without an email, call, or Castiel popping his head into the church. A deep pit of longing opened in his chest, and Dean found himself too distracted to give Sunday mass his proper focus. It was a smaller crowd than usual today, but considering it was when many in the community went out of town or camping, Dean understood. 

 

He looked out over the familiar faces, but one was missing from the ranks. Stifling a sigh, he continued on, meandering around the sanctuary as he spoke to the crowd. No one seemed to notice his heart wasn’t in it, though if that was a comfort or concern, Dean wasn’t sure.

 

A movement from above in the balcony briefly drew Dean’s attention up. The church was never so full that the balcony needed to be opened, so seeing two figures above was immediately concerning...Worse still, it didn’t take him long to realize who they were, and what they were doing. 

 

Sam’s hands twined around Castiel’s neck, gripping tight enough that the man’s eyes fluttered with a soundless gasp. Castiel’s trousers pooled obscenely around his ankles as Sam pressed his body up against the far shorter man, and while his brother was still visibly clothed, Dean had no doubt to what they were doing. 

 

They were far enough back that no parishioner could crane around and see them, giving Dean the only view from his position on the raised sanctuary. It was an obscene display in the house of God, and Dean could scarcely look away. 

 

He had never seen Castiel like this. Flushed, lips parted in what Dean knew had to be sensuous breaths. Even from this distance, he could spy Castiel’s cock heavy between his legs, swaying with the rocking of Sam’s hips. 

 

Dean stood, entranced somewhere between horror and rage until the congregation began to murmur and shift. His eyes slowly trailed higher, and they met Sam’s. Inky orbs as dark as night stared back at him, and Dean staggered. Reason left him, and he turned, fleeing from the vision of a fell thing possessing his one surviving family member, grinning an imp’s smile as he fucked into Castiel and stained the church beyond recognition. 

 

* * *

 

Dean waited.

 

Hours trickled by as he ignored the knocks on the Rectory door and his phone buzzing nonstop. His parishioners' concern, while touching, was not what he wished for right now. All he wanted was for Sam to stride through the door and ask why Dean left. To say he had suffered some sort of perverse delusion and Sam hadn’t done such a vile thing...That there was no darkness taking root in his baby brother that had tainted one of the best men Dean had the privilege of knowing in his entire life.

 

But Sam never returned. As night crept on, and Dean’s fears grew, he knew he would have to search out his brother...And there was only one place Dean felt he could be.

 

The short walk to the church felt endless, backlit by the clear moon hovering above. His beloved yard looked eerie in the night, and the church loomed ahead, one door propped open as if anticipating his arrival. 

 

He stepped into the vestibule, and the door slowly swung shut behind him. His heart thundered in his ears as he walked forward, the stretch of the nave laid out before him, his mile to walk before the devil came to collect. And He called.

 

“I thought you’d never join us, brother. Castiel has been waiting for you.” Sam’s voice rang out through the church, deceptively boyish. He still wore his clerical collar, but it looked somehow perverse next to the eerie grin that had settled on his lips. The white square of it only served to highlight the solid darkness of his brother’s once-hazel eyes.

 

He had thought himself prepared for what evils he might face here, but he had been wrong.

 

“Sam...What’s happened to you?” He breathed, staring ahead at the altar where Castiel knelt, bare to God’s eye.

 

Castiel knelt before the Altar, hands clasped and bound with an altar-cloth while gripping the edge of the polished wood. His back arched, a heady tremble shivering through his body as his knees dug into the floor, spread wide. Little whimpers of broken desire tore from his chest, punctuating every fresh twitch of his naked body. 

 

The cause for his apparent distress was all too easy for Dean to see the closer he stepped. A fat plug stretched his hole, the glass so clear that Dean knew if he knelt he’d be able to peer within Castiel’s open depths. Castiel’s cock leaked a dribble as Dean approached, head twitching slightly to the side. 

 

Sam reached down to guide Castiel’s head forward. “Ah-ah, behave Castiel, you’re still doing your penance,” he chastised softly, long fingers stroking through the man’s disheveled hair. His eyes swiveled towards Dean, grin returning.”I know you have lusted over him, brother. It was rude of me to take him first, but he is a willful one. Needy.” Sam’s hand tightened in Castiel’s hair, drawing his head back until Castiel groaned at the firm tug.

 

“Sam, what have you done? Let him go! What...what is wrong with you?” Dean breathed, torn between the horror of seeing Sam so feral, and a loathsome lust that couldn’t deny, seeing Castiel like this, stirred in him. 

 

Sam laughed, “Let him go? He’s here of his own accord! He can get up and walk away if he wants to, but I think he has something else in mind.” He cooed down at what Dean had thought to be a devout man, but seeing Castiel so wanton, so willful...it was hard to picture him sitting in the pews with his bible in hand.

 

“I don’t...I don’t understand why you’re doing this Sam.” Dean hazarded going closer, drawn by an invisible thread. “What has befallen you?”

 

The smile on Sam’s lips soured.”Do you really want to know?  _ Apathy _ , Dean. All of this — “ He gestured around the empty church, “— is useless.  _ Meaningless _ . We play lip service to a god that doesn’t give a damn. Band-aids over sinners that spill back into the streets to do as they will because they know ‘god’ will turn around and forgive them. Nothing changes.” He growled his discontent, “I would know...you see, I’ve got an inside look now, “ He tapped his temple, smile slowly creeping back.”You can’t imagine the things I know now, Dean. If you knew, you’d see it my way. But don’t worry. You will. I can’t leave my brother in the dark any longer...that’s why I wanted to give you something. A gift. You’ve struggled so long Dean. Aren’t you tired of it?” 

 

He reached to curl his hands under Castiel’s chin and slowly draw the man to standing. “You’ve looked at him since the day his family moved into town. I’ve seen your lust. Aren’t you tired of denying yourself? He wants it. He’s told you as much.” 

 

Shaking his head, Dean choked on a thin laugh of disbelief.”Why are you…? I have lusted! I am flawed, but that’s why we  _ do _ this Sam. We took vows!” 

 

“ _ Damn the vows _ .” Sam hissed, a crackle in his voice that made the shadows around them seem denser...darker. “What has the cloth given you but shame and worry? You did this because our dad was a bastard and I was too chickenshit to do anything but follow you. John  _ made _ us into this Dean. It’s never what you really wanted.” Every word was true. It was a hard truth that Dean had never wanted voiced aloud for fear that he would be all too quick to agree.

 

“Sam —”

 

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice interrupted, puffed thin with desire. “It was you...that I was talking about in confessional. When you lent me your shirt.” Another quiet moan built in his chest as Sam turned him, letting Dean get a full look of his naked body and heavy erection between his legs. “I’ve wanted you...it’s vile, isn’t it? Lusting after your priest.” He sat back on the altar, breath hitching as the plug pressed deeper into him.

 

Dean swallowed watching Castiel widen his legs, the inviting gleam of wetness against his cockhead catching the moonlight from the skylights above. “About as vile as a priest lusting after a parishioner,” he replied with a laugh that bordered on the hysterical. 

 

Sam moved behind the altar, reaching to pull Castiel’s bound arms above his head and pull back until Castiel’s head rested on his chest. “Everything John ever told us was bullshit...including this. Take what you want Dean. Leave all this idiocy behind and be who you are. Stop pretending.” One of Sam’s hands skimmed down to Castiel’s chest, nails scraping. 

 

The soft moan building on Castiel’s lips pulsed heat to Dean’s core. “You both would just...cast it away?” He whispered, drawing closer still.

 

Castiel’s eyes drifted closed, and he undulated his hips to feel the grind of the plug beneath him.”I prayed...a-ahhh….every day of my life...for nothing. A cheating wife who left me….nngh...a daughter who hates me...and a job I h-hate. I’m tired of praying.” His cock jerked, another bead of pre welling. 

 

“Aren’t you tired of suffering, Dean?” Sam murmured, eyes softening to a look Dean knew to be his baby brother. 

 

As it was so often in their lives, Sam was right. Dean was  _ tired _ of hating himself. Hating the very fibers of his hedonistic person. He wanted the life he used to have before he’d been cast into this life of rules and pointless policing that only made acid burn in his gut. He was tired of pretending to be anything else but what he felt inside.

 

He stepped closer to the altar, scanning over the miles of bare skin laid out like a heathen offering for him to revel in. 

 

“Take it, Dean. Take what you want.” Sam encouraged, pulling Castiel’s arms high over his head until his body bowed in an inviting arch. 

 

The first press of his lips against Castiel’s chest sealed his fate, and he couldn’t bring himself to care when faced with Castiel’s sweet sigh. Now that he’d started, no force of earth could part him from Castiel’s skin. He laved Castiel’s chest with slow kisses, sucking the olive flesh until a bruise welled under his ministrations. Marking the man he’d longed for all these years.

 

He trailed higher, nipping Castiel’s exposed neck until he could tease no longer. Dean leaned up, looking down at Castiel’s dilated blue eyes as he stepped in close, finally letting himself settle between Castiel’s spread legs. 

 

“Dean,” Castiel breathed, deep voice rumbling through the darkness. 

 

Their lips met in a bruising crash with little finesse, all hunger. Sam kept Castiel from pulling forward, a dark smirk on his lips as he watched Castiel briefly struggle against the submissive hold before he finally giving in. 

 

Castiel’s legs locked around Dean’s waist, pulling the priest in until Dean was forced to plant his hands against the altar to keep from tipping over into Castiel’s prone body. Castiel moaned, the shift in position grinding the plug within him against his prostate once more. 

 

They parted only when the need burned their lungs, heaving hard breaths against each other’s lips. “Dean, do it. Right here, right now.” Castiel ordered, begged,  _ demanded _ . His cock pressed insistently against Dean’s lower stomach, staining his black shirt with a dribble of pre-come the more Castiel ground his hips against the wood. 

 

Suddenly, Castiel was tipping with a sharp sound of surprise. Sam stepped away, tugging Castiel’s arms with him until he was forced to lay back against the altar top. 

 

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, staring down as Castiel raised his legs to plant his heels against the edge, baring himself not only to Dean but to anyone that could wander in. The Church doors were never locked when someone was inside, as Dean had wanted to keep it open for the community, no matter the time. The homeless or the troubled would often show up in the middle of the night for guidance, only now Dean no longer cared for their worries...Not when Castiel’s body was before him, so inviting. He didn’t think he had the right to guide anyone anymore.

 

“Don’t think.” Sam whispered, eyes watching Dean carefully.”Besides, you’re granting Castiel’s prayers. Why is it God that decides what is worthy of fulfillment?” He smirked, pressing the bulge of his crotch against Castiel’s bound hands. 

 

Distantly, Dean knew many aspects of this didn’t feel right, but he was adrift with only Castiel’s body as a guiding beacon.

 

He tugged his belt off with a hiss, casting it aside to the floor. With a rough hand, he undid his fly, shivering when he finally bared himself to the darkness of the church, pressing his arousal against one of Castiel’s strong thighs. 

 

“Yessss,” Castiel shifted, urging Dean for more and more. 

 

His hand fell to the cleft of Castiel’s ass, thumbing over the glass plug nestled inside. It was almost a shame it was too dim for him to see, for he would have liked to marvel at Castiel so stretched and wide for him. Next time. 

 

“You want me so badly?” Dean crooned, hooking his index and thumb against the plug and slowly rotating it within Castiel’s channel. Delighting as a spasm of hot pleasure shuddered through Castiel’s body, Dean began to draw it out, wiggling it until the plug slid free. He let it fall to the floor, rolling down the few short steps that lead up to the raised sanctuary. 

 

“Dean!” Castiel’s keen sounded more like a growl, and his legs slid out to lock around Dean once more. 

 

Dean’s cock slid against Castiel’s slick cleft, and in that moment the scent of the lube hit him. Sam had used sacramental oil to place that plug within Castiel, the mixture of rich olive oil and touches of balsam imprinted on his hands and in his nose alike. His eyes flicked up to meet Sam’s, but they only saw black. 

 

The next moment, he was guiding himself into Castiel’s heat, and the concern for their blasphemy fell away. He sank into Castiel with a feral snarl, hands snapping to Cas’ hips as he pressed himself flush to Castiel’s taut cheeks. It was animalistic how much he’d wanted this, and now that they were here, Dean never wanted to part. 

 

A wet sound drew his attention up the length of Castiel’s body, in time to see Sam sink the thick length of his dick down Castiel’s throat. Castiel’s own desire twitched, looking ready to spill just from being run through on both ends. 

 

It should have revolted him, sharing something like this with his baby brother, but they’d shared all things before. Why not this? If not for Sam, Dean wouldn’t have answered the siren call to have Castiel like this to start.

 

Dean chuckled, bending to mouth the muscular swell of Castiel’s right pec. “ _ And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased,” _ he murmured against Castiel’s flesh; he bit, pressing his teeth against Castiel’s skin until the man keened around the invasion of Sam’s dick. 

 

He fucked into Castiel as if this was his last night on earth, and perhaps it was. Dean felt something approaching, an encroaching darkness that licked at his feet like flames. He’d signed away a part of himself tonight, lost to his baby brother’s kindness. 

 

He didn’t know how much time passed, or how none of them had waned from exhaustion, but as the threads of dawn crept over the horizon, illuminating their sins, Dean could see for the first time the pleasures he had wrought. 

 

Castiel was streaked in his own seed, sticky and slick with it. The combined mess of them dripped onto the altar, staining the polished wood as the son of God watched from the cross not ten feet behind them. Debauchery was not a word strong enough for what had occurred, and yet, as he watched Castiel slurp the remains of Sam’s pleasure onto his tongue, Dean thought him magnificent. He’d always admired Castiel drive, and it was no surprise he would excel here too. 

 

Castiel’s eyes fluttered open, the glacial blue as black as the night they left behind. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Goodbye Father, thank you for speaking with me. You’re counseling, it’s...it’s what I need right now.” Mrs. Tran smiled softly, her hand resting a moment on Dean’s hand before she turned and walked away. 

 

Dean smirked softly as he watched the woman walk away. Controlling, manipulative, but she had potential. She was a fierce woman if only she’d let herself bloom.

 

He turned to tidy his desk. As he tucked away the mail two strong arms snaked around his waist, the press of a solid erection slotting between his cheeks. “Are you done listening to the whining today?” Castiel purred in his ear.

 

Dean grinned, rolling his hips to tease his lover to growling. “Would you stop even if I wasn’t?” He smirked, glancing into the mirror above his desk to stare into Castiel’s eyes, obsidian meeting obsidian.

**Author's Note:**

> For more information, requests, or updates, go to: http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/ and search #Neon-writes or #Neon Write


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